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Prompt of the Week - Week 79
🕑 Added 2022-01-29 16:31:07 +0000 UTCTAGS: Renamon Stack Overflow, Hyper, Hyper Growth, Extreme Growth, Milk/Cum
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He’d be lying if he said he knew what a stack overflow was, which was a slight issue considering what kind of creature he happened to be. Then again, did every human have a full degree on anatomy and neuropsychology? Were they required to know everything about themselves down to an almost encyclopedic knowledge? If not, then it stood to reason that neither should he… though, looking back at things, maybe it would’ve helped if he weren’t so deeply ignorant of some of the more basic aspects of his rather unique biology (for lack of a better word). For Dash, it began simply enough: he woke up one day, noticed he was a bit fuller than usual, and seeing as the previous night had been replete with perhaps a bit too much alcohol for his liking, the Renamon figured it wouldn’t be too much of an issue if he shunted from of his excess nightly productivity into his Digivice; he’d been warned not to fill the memory banks unless it was absolutely necessary, something about it having a decent risk of bugging the thing out, but he’d gone through his whole life without ever touching the thing, so why not make use of it then? Besides, when he got his head back on and it stopped spinning, he’d just go back, fetch all the spunk and milk he’d gotten rid of, then pump it out the conventional way, so no big deal. It was only after he resolved to do so, and went through the surprisingly long and involved process of transferring his physical self (or part of it, at least) into his digital half that Dash fully realised just how much better he felt; he hadn’t expected it to be like a dozen weights thrown off his shoulders, but as soon as he emptied his tits and balls out, he felt like a whole new person! After years of carrying around a bust and a pair of nuts each easily the size of a couple of watermelons, in addition to the frankly ludicrous amount of juices they insisted on making regardless if he was horny or not, Dash was just about ready to take anything that might help alleviate the burden. It didn’t exactly make him any smaller, nor did it stop him producing even more cum and dairy, but it did stave off him feeling like he was about to burst, and given how much his head was pounding that morning, he’d happily take that much and call it a victory. Even better was how the rest of the day seemed to go even smoother than expected; nothing really out of the ordinary happened, but there was a general sense of wellbeing and comfort that permeated every second of it, almost like Dash had just had an amazing meal followed by a three-hour-long relaxation session at a spa. He felt clear, clean, and, most of all, empty; it really was a case that one only truly knew what one was missing when one didn’t have it anymore, only inverted in his particular case: years and years of always having something inside of him had led to the Renamon forgetting what it was like to just be drained completely, as even his pumping didn’t really leave him fully empty. Shunting all the cream to the digital world, however, did absolute wonders, and it wouldn’t be more than an hour before Dash began wondering whether he shouldn’t just do it again; once more, he had barely used his Digivice to store anything in, what, over twenty years? There was bound to be plenty of empty space in there that he hadn’t been using, so surely it wouldn’t be that big a problem if she started filling it up with his produce when no one was looking. And for a couple of weeks, that was exactly what he did: occasionally, the Renamon would take a look at the device and check the storage status on it, and after confirming it still wasn’t at even one percent full capacity, kept on directing his excess productivity into the digital world, content in the “knowledge” that he had such a ridiculous margin for error there that he could afford to fuck up a few dozen times before he had to begin worrying. Even others noticed the difference; most of his friends wondered whether the Rena had decided to take suppressants, as they’d never seen him so small on a consistent basis before. For his part, Dash just winked and said it was his little secret… but, over time, the comments began getting to him, and for all the wrong reasons as well. Up until then, Dash had been placing his cream in the digital world; in other words, he’d produce, then shunt whatever he made into the other side and call it a day, and while this worked for what he wanted it to do, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he could do something more than that, though what he didn’t exactly know. It took a significant amount of thinking, and a non-insignificant amount of horny, before the Rena reached a proper conclusion, and even then it took more convincing still before the voice of caution was drowned out and replaced by the chorus of shouting that kept telling him to go further. The conclusion was devilishly simple: rather than throwing what he made into the digital world, he would instead divert his ability to produce to begin with! It was a bit abstract, and it took Dash some time before he figured out how he was supposed to do it without completely turning himself inside out; it didn’t help that he had to ask a lot of very specific questions from a lot of very specific people in such a specific way that it didn’t attract unwanted attention, most of which gave him answers he was not at all qualified to understand. Work and work for weeks on end, during which he finally reached one percent storage capacity, but ultimately, he found a way to make it work. It was slapdash, most likely inefficient, and carried a high likelihood of seriously damaging his Digivice, but the Rena figured it should technically do what it was supposed to do, even if he didn’t know how, why, or how come the universe at large allowed him to bypass things by fiddling with variables in ways that would make programmers cry. All he cared about was how, after he input the correct sequence of letters and numbers and told the small electronic device to process the ungodly command it was given, he suddenly felt… emptier. He’d been empty already; the Renamon had made sure to run his draining program automatically, ensuring that any drop of milk or cum he produced was immediately shunted into the digital storage he carried around with him, and for those wonderful few weeks, Dash had known what it was like to be drained. But only then, when he “switched off” his ability to produce in the first place, did he truly understand what it was like to feel empty. To be devoid of not just what he could make, but of the ability to make it in the first place, putting him squarely on the same level as everyone else on the planet; no longer was he a monstrous milk maker with an accompanying set of hyperactive nuts, now he was just your average Rena with a set of tits big enough to crush someone’s neck if he used them as a boobhat and a package down below to match. And, for just a few minutes, this felt… good. It was hard to put it into words, owing to how Dash hadn’t had a frame of reference for this sort of state of being; it had been years since he was last fully devoid of any productive capacity, and he barely recalled the time of his life where he was just like all other people. To so suddenly be placed back several years, when he’d spent so long getting accustomed to his new self, was… good. Just good; not spectacular, not heavenly, not anything other than just a nice feeling of comfort, like he’d just gotten home from a long day of work and had an extended weekend with no obligations in front of him. It brought a smile to his face, and for a few minutes, Dash was well and truly happy: not ecstatic, not blissful, not even enthusiastic, just… happy. And content.
Obviously, this couldn’t last long.
The first sign that something was wrong was when the Rena looked down at his Digivice and noticed the one percent storage capacity had suddenly jumped to five. This was such a massive change that he failed to actually process it correctly; in the short amount of time in between him looking away and then snapping his head back as if to reconfirm the time after looking at his watch once already, it had reached twelve percent, causing Dash to start… well, not panicking, per se, but certainly getting into the beginning stages of flailing about as he tried to understand what was happening to him. He looked down at himself, and only grew more confused as a result: his tits were still the same size they used to be, as were his nuts and cock, and trying to touch them didn’t reveal them to be any more sensitive or capable of producing more. Moving around did nothing either, though in the time it took for him to do it, the storage capacity had reached thirty percent and was climbing further still. By then actually panicking, Dash tried to turn his Digivice off; he hadn’t made any provisions to place an emergency stop to the process, figuring that he would still have plenty of time to fix it if anything went wrong, so the only way he could think of to forcefully stop it would be to slam the off button and hope for the best… yet, when his finger was halfway there, he stopped to think. If he was suddenly producing so much more, then if he turned the device off, wouldn’t it be suddenly blown back into him? And if he spent weeks without even so much as reaching one percent full capacity, and this would’ve left him a good twice his regular size had he not been shunting all that cream elsewhere, then that level of fill-up was sure to leave the whole room covered in Renamon… in himself. But it couldn’t be; he couldn’t just suddenly be so much milkier and more productive downstairs, it was impossible! Clearly, there had to be something wrong with the display, yes; clearly, it was miscounting the amount of fluids it was being made to store, rather than providing an accurate summary. This had to be the case; surely, as Dash thought to himself, he would know if he’d suddenly skyrocketed in that department, that wasn’t the sort of stuff that just happened without him noticing. Thus, it was best if he calmed down, sat back on the couch, and then approached the topic with a clear and clean mind; everything was going to be fine, he just needed to keep his head on straight and think about things rationally. This was, unfortunately, made slightly more difficult by how when he did sit down, the springs on the sofa groaned far more loudly than they usually did, along with the cushion under his ass collapsing hard enough that the stuffing was blown out one end. Dash had a couple of seconds to look at the device on his hand, to see how it had reached one hundred percent, before the screen glitched out, turned black, and was suddenly filled with an error message. He didn’t know what it said; he wasn’t a coder, nor did he have any idea what those devices were capable of whenever they went off the rails like that. Three words, however, attracted his attention, three words he’d heard before and, while he didn’t know the full meaning of, grasped enough of it to understand something had gone seriously wrong with his plan.
STACK OVERFLOW ERROR
All hell broke loose. Suddenly, the notion that he’d been producing more than was possible didn’t sound so ridiculous, not after the floodgates opened and said productivity was fully exposed for him to see. In just a moment, both of his tits erupted outwards, not so much growing as they did bloat with cream, and enough of it that he didn’t just double, he nearly tripled in size before he had the chance to even react! Down below, his cumtanks slammed against the ground after spilling off the side of the couch, forcing the Rena’s legs open just to deal with the sudden avalanche of nutflesh that came from his body being forced to adapt in such an insanely short timespan. That was just the blink of an eye; it would’ve been more than enough to leave him confused and blanked out for the rest of the day if it was just that, but even this colossal upgrade in size and proportions was only step one of the absolute maelstrom of growth he had unleashed upon himself. He barely had the reaction time to even begin to process what was about to happen, but his body wasn’t going to wait; unbeknownst to Dash, it wasn’t even his fault either, as there was no way he could’ve known that his productivity was keyed to him in a way that would’ve made any attempts at curtailing it backfire regardless of how skilled the programmer was. When he was merely dumping his spunk and dairy into the digital world, things ran smoothly, but the moment he deliberately attempted to divert his capacity for production, his Digivice more or less threw its proverbial arms in the air and called it quits. Ultimately, it was the Renamon’s physicality that provided its own limiter on how big he could actually get: he had a natural stretchiness to him, and it was difficult for his body to progress beyond it, though not impossible; he hadn’t always had a pair of watermelon-sized orbs attached to his chest and between his legs. Absent any kind of limitation, however, nothing stopped this number, shunted into a digital world in the abstract, from just rising without opposition; every processing tick, it built on itself, adding more and more until it was such an absurdly high value that no living creature would ever be able to reach it. Even Dash, were he to live out his entire life, would never have reached a fraction of what his digital backup had accomplished in just a couple of seconds… but, absent any more room in which to dump all the excess milk and cum, the cycle had to turn around back to him. There was only so much storage space within something like the Digivice, and even through data compression, this could only go so far. Past a certain point, it either had to stop, or the whole thing would spill over; it wasn’t like a standard computer, it wasn’t a self-contained unit that could just crash and brick itself. No, the Renamon existed, Dash existed, and now he was going to have to deal with the consequences of the terrible decision he’d made; with nowhere else to go, all that excess milk and cum capacity was rerouted directly to him, and while it was no longer growing exponentially now that it was stuck inside a physical body again, it had inflated itself to such a high level that this hardly even mattered anymore. Within the first ten seconds, the Rena found himself buried underneath a bust so colossal that he couldn’t even begin to see where it started to curve; all he had in front of him was a wall of yellow, pushing him back and smothering his muzzle to the point where he could barely even breathe. And while he couldn’t see it, Dash knew his nuts were exactly the same, bloating outwards at a rate so fast that he was almost unsurprised when he heard the walls to his home crash and collapse outwards when the avalanche of stuffed Rena barrelled through them. Another ten seconds still, and the first car alarms were audible coming from outdoors, at around the same time as Dash felt his back being pushed against the one remaining wall of his living room, his back flattened against the cold surface. It was his one respite: at least he wasn’t being projected back across the air as his tits and nuts bwoompfed out in every direction. No, instead his bust and package was being pushed out in front of him, most likely having flattened most of the neighbourhood by the time he formulated that thought. Thankfully, and quite mercifully, it’d be one of the last thoughts he ever had; much as Dash would’ve liked to hold on to his conscious self, his brain wasn’t growing along with the rest of him, and this created something of a conundrum: he had the same processing power, but so, so much more to process. Yards upon yards of tit and nut, and yards upon yards more as the growth continued unabated; he didn’t even know if it would slow down, much less stop at any point. Did his body have a hard cap? Would he just reach a point where he could grow no longer and would start using the great outdoors as his new storage space? He certainly hoped so… at least, in the last few moments where he could “hope” for anything, before the flood of endorphins became too much for him to handle and swallowed him whole. He was adrift in an ocean of himself… and honestly, he could have been worse. Maybe hours passed, maybe minutes, he didn’t know; he just knew it was warm, it was soft, and it was very sloshy.
And it was still going as well.
So why bother resisting?
